


Boulder is Burning

by smoky_doky



Category: Dead By Daylight
Genre: AU, F/F, Multi, Possession AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-04-26 16:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14405802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoky_doky/pseuds/smoky_doky
Summary: They were people. They were people with names and emotions--people with families and dreams. Some may have had their father's temper or their mother's nose. Despite what kind of person he was beforehand, Philip Ojomo, with his father's temper and his mother's nose, is feared and free in the town of Boulder as Meg Thomas' suspected abductor. After Philip disappears into the woods seemingly out of thin air, Meg starts to lose herself in the same aggressive way her attacker had, acting under the influence of something...But what?





	1. Domestic Interruption

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this bullshit in like an hour and a half in google docs, it's an idea i've had for literal months but i've been too lazy to actually do anything about it lmao. basically here's a self-indulgent possession megette au and this is p r o b a b l y gonna be the only chapter unless i get enough feedback to want to write more sorry its short bYE--

Two young women sit on a sofa with the soft glow of the News Channel being the only light illuminating them. One of them, a fit, ambitious athlete known as Meg Thomas, relives the most scary moment of her life as it’s played on the screen in front of them in the form of a news story. Her girlfriend, Claudette Morel, tightens her grip on Meg’s hand, pursing her lips and peering over her glasses at the glowing screen attentively.

“--A woman from the Boulder area managed to escape her attacker. The suspect, twenty eight year old Philip Ojomo, has not yet been retained. More at ten.”

Meg drummed her fingers against the arm of the sofa impatiently. “Can we please watch something else?” She pulled her hand away from Claudette’s to reach up and undo her braids, as she did at the end of every day. Her orange hair, crimped from staying in braids all day, fell to her shoulders while she combed it with her fingers lazily. She chewed on her lip in slight frustration. She hated when Claudette didn’t answer her. “...Please?”

“I just want to know what happened.”

“Well, I already told you, and I really don’t feel like reliving it all over again--” Meg protests and stands up from her spot, “--so I’m gonna go to bed.”

_Translation: Turn the channel or I’m not paying attention to you._

“Alright. Sleep tight, buttercup, don’t let the bedbugs bite. I’ll join you in a bit.” Claudette’s eyes didn’t move from the screen.

That didn’t go as planned.

The rest of the night proceeded without any more talking. Meg went to sleep not long afterwards, but her nightmare--more accurately a recount of what happened--kept her mind active. She dreamt of her attacker, and yes, he was a man, but he didn’t act like one. He acted like a monster; an animal.

_She was out for a run on her usual trail in the woods when she was approached by him. Accompanied by several inhuman growls and grunts, his lanky figure stalked toward her; his initial demeanor was threatening enough to let her know something wasn’t right. This person should be avoided, a man who was covered in a copper red substance, with mud, smelling like iron. How was it that she was running full speed and he seemed to be able to catch her just by walking? He was quite tall, to be fair. Some long-ass legs._

_She stopped looking back to keep track of him eventually--that was a mistake. She received a blow to her lower back, which instantly crippled her and caused her to fall to her knees. That blow put her in a back brace, she hasn’t been able to run since._

_She fell without any verbal noise, too terrified to scream until he lifted her by her leg and slung her over his shoulder like a fucking ragdoll--how a skinny guy like him managed to do that, she’ll never know. She couldn’t struggle because of the pain, and didn’t think to scream until she was carried past a familiar, rinky-dink wooden cabin on the edge of the woods. She never said anything to whoever it was that lived there, but occasionally on her runs, some guy would be outside doing god-knows-what (his best, perhaps) with a toolbox and an old generator._

_Finally, some noise emitted from her throat. A blood curdling scream. “HE’S GONNA FUCKING KILL ME!” Along with a few choked sobs. “PLEASE! HELP ME!”_

_Her aggressor, still carrying her, nearly passed by the cabin completely before a gunshot cracked through the air, Meg was dropped facedown, and her attacker scampered off into the woods like a wild animal. She looked up weakly, still shaking from the sharp, horrible pain in her back, staring at the man leaning out of the cabin window with a .22 hunting rifle._

Claudette’s eyes open groggily--no, it isn’t time for her to go to work yet. She squints her eyes at the red glowing letters on her side-table alarm clock, barely able to read it even from only a foot away. God, she was blind as a bat. It was three goddamn thirty in the morning, and for some reason, Meg wasn’t lying next to her.

“Meg?” She reached for her glasses, clumsily sliding them onto her face and squinting into the darkness. Meg, who had been known to sleepwalk, and even talk in her sleep sometimes, stood at the end of the bed, staring at Claudette with half-lidded eyes. Creepy, yes, but Claudette got used to it within the first few months of living with Meg. The creepy part was that for some reason, Meg was wearing no clothing. This wasn't normal, because even on nights when they were intimate they still went to sleep fully clothed.

“Where are your clothes? Your back brace? Megan, come back to bed.” Claudette’s words became more and more panicked as Meg still didn’t move. “You’re really freaking me out.”

Very faintly, she responded in a low voice. “Death is not an escape. They’ll do it over and over again. We’ve been chosen by the entity--”

“MEGAN.”

And suddenly, Meg woke up standing at the foot of the bed, not knowing why, vomiting onto the floor as everything began to hurt again. She was taken to the hospital for the second time that week.

“She’s always sleepwalked, but she’s never spoken in complete sentences like that before. It really scared me.”

The doctor, who had no inside voice and probably would make a better linebacker (“built like a brick-shithouse”, Meg snickered to Claudette the first time they saw him), nodded and jotted a few notes down onto a clipboard. “There seems to be no apparent reason for the vomiting. You have a fever. That, your back pain, and emotional stress from what’s happened recently probably caused the nightmare that’s got her talking nonsense and walking around so much. Doing weird things while she sleepwalks--it’s pretty common, actually. Moreso in children, but--” he waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing to worry about, really.” Good God, he sure loves to ramble doesn’t he?

“Thank you so much, Doctor…” Claudette trailed off, unsure what his name actually was. All she knew was that he treated Meg both times she was brought into the emergency room.

He glanced at her over his glasses and flashed a white-toothed, charismatic smile. “Carter.”

“Doctor Carter,” Claudette affirmed, resuming her role as a concerned girlfriend by grazing the back of Meg’s hand with her lips, placing a kiss there and running her thumb over it. Meg seemed to be dazed and lost in thought, but snapped out of it to reciprocate a loving smile anyway.

“You ladies have a wonderful night,” Doctor Carter called over his shoulder enthusiastically, stopping at the doorway of the hospital room with his back to them. “What was it that she said again?”

“We’ve been chosen by the--something. ‘The entity’. I’m not quite sure what it means. Probably some weird fever dream.”

He says nothing for a moment and only rubs the back of his head in thought. He seems nervous, for a second, his voice breaking as he nodded and walked out. “Perhaps.”


	2. Quirky Woodsman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What-What’re you doing?”
> 
> “Smiling?”
> 
> “Don’t...Do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what the fUCK is up yall ive been debating whether or not to scrap this but some of you seem to like it! allow me to feed u more of my garbage lol

Meg felt progressively more ill within the next week. She stayed in bed most of the time, Doctor Carter insisted there was no medical reason and that “it could very well be stress induced.” Subsequently her job as a personal trainer has quickly gone downhill, cancelling every appointment her clients made with her.

“I’m not even upset about losing clients. I’m injured _and_ sick, I don’t know how I’m s’posed to get anything done,” she explained to Claudette. She, in turn, nodded. Maybe she could somehow either convince Meg that her injury was the extent of her inability to work, not her illness, or just get Doctor Carter to write her a prescription for some placebos to ease her mind. Regardless, she changed the subject. 

“You visit your mom today?” Claudette closed her textbook and placed it on her bedside table, then turned to look at Meg. 

“No actually. I talked to the guy who scared Philip off for the first time,” Meg retorted matter-of-factly. “his name is Ja-...Jacob? Jake? I’m not sure which he goes by. I invited him over.”

Claudette raised her eyebrows. “You invited an off-the-grid forest hobo to our house?” Meg sensed her annoyance, which was pretty easy to do with the way she pinched the bridge of her nose and frowned.

“Okay, first of all,” Meg started, “he saved my life, and second of all, I’m sure he would find a hipster who works at a flower shop just as strange.” She folded her arms condescendingly, earning a huff from Claudette. 

Claudette sighed, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Must have really struck a nerve there.

“But for the record I’m a botanist.”

If their bickering hadn’t died down just seconds before, the knocking on their front door would have been inaudible from way back in their bedroom. “Just a minute!” Claudette called, standing and walking to the front room. Meg managed to get up and hobble behind her, groaning as the tightness in her back shot pain through her body. 

Claudette’s antisocial nature began to reestablish itself in her brian--she’s been interacting with people in real life a lot more often since the incident, and her anxiety levels spiked at the thought of answering the door to a complete stranger, someone she’s never seen before. 

“It’s okay, I’ll answer it,” Meg assured her sympathetically, stepping in front of the shorter woman and facing her. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting so weird, it’s just been hard.” She leaned down, trying to resist the urge to grimace in pain as she pecked Claudette’s forehead. “I love you.” 

Claudette felt bad--she felt as if she somehow could have or should have been more prepared to handle a situation where Meg was unable to do all the talking for her, as these events have been occurring more frequently lately. “I love you too.”

The front door opens and standing there is a man not much taller than Meg; he certainly looked like someone who’s been living alone in the woods for years, despite his apparent youth. He couldn’t have been any older than twenty three even with the beard. Claudette looked him up and down from behind Meg, and saw a backpack, a suitcase, and a toolbox at his feet.

“You brought stuff!” She blurted, and Meg winced.

“Those glasses really do it for you, don’t they Miss?” Jake regretted his remark as soon as it left his mouth. Sarcasm isn’t really the best first impression for someone allowing you to stay at their house.

“Meg, why did he bring stuff?” Claudette inquired nervously. “You told me you invited him over.”

Meg chewed on the inside of her cheek and laughed nervously to herself. “I didn’t...I didn’t really say for how long, though.”

Claudette’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Are you serious? I--you--” She turned to Jake. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude,” she apologized.

“Yeah kinda.”

“Can I get you something to drink?” She asked politely.

“A glass of water would be nice,” he answered, and Meg stepped aside to allow him into their house. His voice kind of made Claudette’s skin crawl, it was just as monotone and emotionless as the constant, glazed over look on his face.

“Are you… Are you alright?” Meg asked as Jake dragged his stuff inside, looking around dazedly. 

“No, yeah, of course. People ask me that all the time. I’m good.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s cool. I just look fucked up twenty-four seven because I smoke and drink heavily and live in the woods and sleep on my face,” he said. 

“...Right. Yeah, it--be like that sometimes.” _I hate myself._

Claudette walked in not long after, breaking the awkward silence of the two strangers by setting a glass of water down on the table. “Here. So you’re staying here?” She questioned quietly, looking down and sitting on the couch. Meg slowly sat down next to her, careful not to cause any pain in her back.

“I shot the guy in the shoulder and he sprinted full speed into the woods that I happen to live in. You expect me to stick around until he's killed me too?" Jake chided. He paused, grabbing the glass of water off the table and sipping it awkwardly, more to seem nonchalant. “I apologize. My social skills are a bit off. I haven’t really willingly interacted with someone in almost a year.” 

Meg changed the subject. God, this interaction was shit already. “I just wanna thank you,” she said, “I feel like this is the least I could do since you helped me out like that. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if you weren’t there.”

Jake nodded, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek in thought before pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket. “Is it cool if I smoke in here?” He asked.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” Claudette answered. 

“Okay thanks.” He raised a lighter to the fag, lighting it and continuing to look around the front room as he exhaled the first hit through his nose. Claudette glared. Meg decided to save her lecture on how smoking is one of the most disgusting things you can do to your body for later. 

“Alright or you could just do it anyway.” 

Their house wasn’t big, but it was cozy, and held a lot of love. Photos in the front room reflected different time periods throughout their relationship, started in their senior year of highschool and coming up on six years, along with pictures of their loved ones. A television, a sofa, a coffee table, and a movie shelf made up their small living room. It didn’t take long for Jake to grow bored of looking at the pictures. He turned from a picture of the two at senior prom to face Meg. “You know, I knew him.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Philip. I kind knew him before that happened. He was a real nice guy. Dunno what happened though. Maybe he was on some shit,” Jake elaborated reluctantly. “I’m, let me assure you, I’m not defending him or what he did in any way. I’m just saying it just isn’t like him to have--”

“His boss was found dead, next to a bloodied crowbar, with his skull and spinal cord ripped out,” Meg interrupted. “Tell me more about how it isn’t like him.”

Jake fell quiet for a moment, lost in thought and silently taking another drag of the cigarette between his fingers and flicking the ashes into the palm of his free hand. “Fair enough, I guess. Thanks for letting me stay here though. I wouldn’t want him to run up on my house.”

Neither of the women responded to him, they only glanced at each other in passive-aggressive disagreement. Jacob “doesn’t understand social cues” Park somehow managed to sense this awkwardness. 

“So,” Claudette continued the conversation, “What do you...Do?”

“What do I do?” Jake echoed.

“Yeah, like for work?” she expanded.

“Oh, uh, sometimes I junk scrap metal, that puts a couple bucks in my pocket, enough for smokes and booze I guess. It’s how I knew Phil actually. I use ‘knew’--” he emphasized with finger quotes--”very loosely, I guess. I never talked to the guy.”

Meg’s eyes narrowed as her vision shifted from her dazed state back to Jake before muttering, “I thought you said he was really nice.”

Jake cleared his throat, taking another sip of water and again setting it back down, not caring enough to notice the coaster that sat right next to it.

_'Put the fucking water on the fucking coaster, you fucking fuck, you're gonna leave a ring on my grandmother's fucking coffee table. You want that? You wanna ruin my grandmother's coffee table, you dumb prick?'_

Despite the thoughts going a million miles a minute in Claudette's head, she let him continue talking as she leaned over to set it on there herself.

“Nice, friendly, likable... At least, to everyone else. He wasn’t a shy guy, which is weird.” His brow furrowed as he ashed the cigarette into his calloused palm, not even wincing. Claud did the wincing for him. “Normally it’s the shy ones that creep up on you. Like me. I’m not stupid. I know I’m a strange guy, how do you know I’m not a serial killer?” He wiped the cigarette ashes onto the front of his green, stained jacket, shoving the other hand with the butt into his pocket.

Claudette’s eyes widened frantically as she glanced back over to Meg, who seemed unfazed. 

Jake ran a hand through his stylish, yet unwashed hair, a chilling grin creeping to his lips. 

“What-What’re you doing?”

“Smiling?”

“Don’t...Do that.”

“Alright.” His expression returned to its natural dead appearance. “I was fucking with you. That was supposed to be a joke. I’m not a serial killer--remind me to never try to be funny again.”

“Noted," Claudette confirmed. 

“Where’s the bathroom? I gotta take a shit.”

Meg wordlessly pointed down the hall to a single door at the end, and Jake silently trotted to it, closing the door. 

“What. The fuck.” Claudette raised her eyebrows and slowly turned to Meg, who sneered. "What a creep."

“I like him. He’s like an alien. It’s his first day on Earth--be nice.”


End file.
